


with you

by newsiees



Category: Newsies (1992), Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-06
Updated: 2017-03-06
Packaged: 2018-09-29 20:33:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10143428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/newsiees/pseuds/newsiees
Summary: Race always opened the door.





	

**Author's Note:**

> response to the anonymous ask: You’ve been my neighbor for almost three years but every time you come home drunk you try to walk into my flat. It’s 2 am and i’m tired… Wait are you singing ‘love is an open door’ from that frozen movie? Sprace" on my tumblr, newsiees.

“Hellooo.” 

Right on schedule. 

Race heaved himself off of his bed, emptying out any hostility with a sigh. He heard a key wiggle uselessly in the lock, followed by a series of unending, frustrated knocks. 

He was still knocking when Race finally made it to the door and gave it a tug. 

“Hello, hot stuff,” Spot said.

“This isn’t your apartment.” 

“I know, I was thinking the same thing. This isn’t your apartment!” Spot laughed, leaning against the doorframe and giving Race a grin. This happened every weekend. Race’s neighbor would show up on Race’s doormat, try to jam his key into the door, and then knock until Race answered. He always did. Then, Spot would pass out on the couch and be gone before Race woke up, the water and aspirin also gone from the coffee table. Sometimes Race saw him around the building, but Spot would only give him a nod and occasionally a smile if he accidentally made eye contact. Race knew some of Spot’s friends - they had definitely been to at least one party where the other was there - but Race only knew his name from the apartment’s list in the foyer. 

“C’mon. Open my own door for me,” Spot snorted, goofy grin still intact. 

“This is still my apartment,” Race sighed, but loosened his grip on the knob.

“But darling- love is an open door with you,” Spot said calmly, raising an eyebrow.

“Wait, what?” 

“Those aren’t the next words. You repeat the ‘with you.’ It’s okay, we can try it again. Love is an open door with you,” Spot said again, singing slightly this time.

“Just come in,” Race groaned, stepping aside for Spot.

“See, love _is_ an open door. I love you.” 

Race just shook his head as shut the door while Spot flopped onto the couch. 

“Goodnight!” Spot yelled into a throw pillow.

“Yeah, yeah.” Race dragged himself back to bed. He never could figure out why he let this go on. 

***

The morning light refreshed Race’s face as it poured into his bedroom. A sunny Sunday. Just what he needed. He exhaled happily into his pillow as he turned over onto his other side.

That’s when he heard footsteps.

Right. Spot. 

Race glanced towards the clock, surprised to see it was a little after nine. He had tried to catch Spot before but he was always gone before seven. This was new. 

Race couldn’t pass up this opportunity so threw his oh-so-warm blankets aside and threw himself out the door and into the mainroom. 

Spot froze in the middle of tying his shoes.

Race froze too, chest heaving as he realized he had finally done it. 

“Gotcha.” 

“Oh, _man_ , I am so sorry.” 

Race stuttered. He had no idea how to react to an apology for making yourself at home in a stranger’s apartment. 

“Uh...it’s good?”

“No, seriously,” Spot said, abandoning his shoes and turning towards Race, Brooklyn accent less erratic than it was at night. “I have no idea why I always do this.” 

“Hey, don’t worry. It makes me laugh.” 

Spot ignored him, gripping his uneven hair, “And you let me! Like, what is that?” 

“Umm...well, I mean...I sort of know you. You’re friends with Jack, aren’t you?” 

Spot snorted, “Everyone is friends with Jack.” 

The corner of Race’s mouth lifted naturally.

“Well, true. But you live next to me and you’ve slept in my apartment almost every week for three years-” 

“Jesus.” 

“-so I’d say we know each other pretty wall.” 

“Oh God,” Spot groaned, head in hands.

“Hey, man, really. Don’t sweat it. I told you that it’s just funny by now. So believe me,” Race smiled, sitting comfortably next to Spot on the couch. 

“Fine, fine,” Spot murmured. “Can I at least make it up to you? Pay you or something?” 

“Nah, don’t worry about money. But you could let me make you breakfast.”

Spot stayed over more often.


End file.
